


Fantasies and Dreams

by ConniptionCrazy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, My Inquisitor, REAL HEAVY ON THAT ANGST, They Have Kids, This is completely self-serving, and it's not solas or quizzy that uses them, but I'm a sucker for happy endings so, kid-centric, mage inquisitor, recreational drug use but like not the fun kind, solas broke everything but then it gets fixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConniptionCrazy/pseuds/ConniptionCrazy
Summary: I have a Mamae and a Papae, and we are a happy family. On my birthday there is cake, and Uncle Dorian teaches me magic. Uncle Bull and Uncle Krem laugh when I try on their armor and knock over Uncle Varric’s drink. Aunt Vivienne buys me pretty clothes and I ruin them on accident with Aunt Sera, playing tricks on everyone at the party. Uncle Thom has made me a staff, my first one, and it’s beautiful.





	Fantasies and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Little Arrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241306) by [playwithdinos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/playwithdinos/pseuds/playwithdinos). 



> This is completely self-serving, mostly a story I just couldn't stop thinking about until I wrote it.
> 
> All elven is courtesy of Project Elvhen. I will have translations/connotations at the end. c:

Val is two years old, and he is bored. _Mamae_ told him to wait here, with Commander Cullen. This place is big and glittery, and there are people who look at him strangely and speak with strange accents. It makes Val uncomfortable. Commander Cullen has a dog, who plays with him and is patient with him. Val decides he likes the dog well enough, but he misses his _Mamae_ , she said she’d be back.

He’s about to try to sneak away from Commander Cullen when his _Mamae_ appears. She is crying, and when she scoops him up it’s only with one arm. Val hugs her around the neck and wonders if she dropped the other one. He could help her look!

But she doesn’t ask him to. She holds him and cries into his hair, and Commander Cullen puts a hand on her shoulder, and Val tries to be patient with her. Adults are weird.

-=-

Solas does not visit her in her dreams. She might rail at him, or worse, forgive him, and each of those would be painful in their own ways. But one look at her, and he would break. He would come crawling back to her. There are a lot of reasons he can’t do that, so he forces himself to stay away. He has done enough, hasn’t he? Surely she deserves some peace when she sleeps.

-=-

Val is five years old, and he is excited. His _Mamae_ is reading him a story about the People. They are sitting on her bed, Val in his _Mamae_ ’s lap the book open in his. Val loves the stories about the People, about where his _Mamae_ comes from. She tells him about the tall, tall trees, and the green, green grass. She tells him about the flowing waters, and lakes so big you can’t see the other side. She tells him about the halla, white and beautiful and sacred.

“They are not our pets, Valasan.” She tells him gently, trying to help him understand. “They are our brothers and sisters. We must help them like they help us.”

Val thinks for a moment.

“Will I have a halla as a baby sister?” He asks her, confused. “Or a brother?”

“No, _da’len_.” She laughs, but he knows she’s not making fun of him, so he tries to wait for her to finish. “The People treat them as family, but they don’t come from us.”

“That would be pretty hard anyway.” Val decides matter-of-factly, looking down at the book _Mamae_ has open in their laps. There is a picture of a herd of halla there, leaping and jumping in the grass.

“Why’s that, _da’mis_?” She asks him, indulgent.

“Well, you need a _mamae_ _and_ a _papae_ to have a family, right? I don’t have a _papae_ , so I can’t have a little sister or brother. I bet you could make them come out of thin air, though, with magic?!”

Val puts the book aside and goes zooming around the room, playing with his imaginary siblings. He is oblivious to the look on _Mamae_ ’s face as she watches him.

At night, he repeats to himself: _I have a Mamae and a Papae, and we are a happy family._

-=-

Val is nine and a half years old, and he is angry. He never gets to _go_ anywhere. When someone comes to Skyhold, where they live, he has to stay in his _Mamae_ ’s room and be very quiet, and he can’t even go out onto the balcony. There are so many rules, and all of them mean he can never, ever go outside Skyhold’s walls. He is _nine and a half_ , he is not a _child_ anymore, he is a _man_. He’s not stupid- his _Mamae_ is a great teacher, both for magic and for everything else, and he can read, too. The library has every book imaginable, and he’s spent a lot of time pouring over them.

He is _ready_ for the world. He wants to meet people and see things, cities as tall as the mountains, lakes so huge you can’t see the other side. He wants to see dragons and halla and bears and wolves.

“ _Mamae_ , please!” He begs, clasping his hands dramatically and falling to his knees before her. His theatrics usually make her laugh and get Val whatever he’s asking for, but this time her face is hard.

“No, Val. For the fiftieth time, _no_. You aren’t ready.” She frowns deeply at him, crossing her arm and her prosthetic.

Val doesn’t give up. He falls on his back, planting his feet on the floor, spreading his arms out wide like someone’s stabbed him in the chest.

“Pleeeeeeeasseee! I’ll be _extra_ careful!”

“ _Valasan_.”

Val sits up, smile fading. This isn’t a game anymore, not with that tone of voice. _Mamae_ is _really_ angry at him.

“ _Mamae_?” He asks quietly.

“Go to your room.” _Mamae_ tells him, her voice like thunder.

Val picks himself up and goes, not daring to look over his shoulder. He gets halfway there before he gets angry, too. She can’t _keep_ him here, it’s not _fair_. He looks out the window, at the portcullis that has always been closed as long as Val can remember.

He makes his decision.

He goes, running hard because if _Mamae_ looks out of the window now and sees him, she will stop him, and he will never get another chance. He’s tiny, so he slips through the holes of the portcullis easily. He clambers through the second set, and then he’s sprinting across the long bridge and out of the second set of gates, and then his feet hit snow.

He sinks up to his waist in it from the first step, crunching and stumbling and laughing his way down the hill. His anger evaporates. He really _was_ ready for this, the world is beautiful, and fun! Shrieking with laughter, Val runs into the forest on the mountain. Maybe he will meet a bear! _Mamae_ says they’re dangerous, but she also said outside was dangerous, and Val feels fine!

In the forest, the snow isn’t quite as deep. He can walk here without feeling slow because of the cold. He is nine and a half, and this is the sort of stuff a man does. The sort of stuff someone as strong as his _Mamae_ does, going into the woods alone.

Val looks up, admiring the ice on the bare tree branches. He’s not watching where he’s going.

The ground beneath his foot gives way on the next step, and Val falls. _Hard_. He doesn’t know what’s happening, dazed by being sent ass-over-tea-kettle down a slope. He lands with a splash and a yelp. The river water is freezing, so freezing, and Val calls out wordlessly for help. For his _Mamae_. He flounders for the bank. The river is fast, but not deep, and while it tugs at his waist and clothes, it never drags him under. He manages to get to the other side and crawls out, curling up on himself to get warmer.

Val looks back the way he came, feeling a sense of dread settle over his shoulders. The hill is huge, and the path his falling body carved in the snow shows there’s really no way to climb back up. Not from here. He lets out a soft cry of dismay, and starts to shiver. His wet hair keeps getting in his eyes, so he pushes it back and looks around. He’s got to get home, where there is fire and warmth and _Mamae._

He crawls a few steps following the riverbank before getting to his feet and trying out his foot that failed him at the top of the slope. A dull pulse of pain travels up his leg. It hurts- he’s never had anything like this hurt before. He reaches out for the support of a tree trunk and hops along. His fingers feel numb. His toes feel numb. Cold mud cakes his right side.

If _Mamae_ was mad before, she’ll be _livid_ now. Val sniffs, and tries not to cry, because he is still a man.

He hops and hobbles and looks for a good place to climb up. He has to take breaks sometimes, because his foot hurts too much, and it’s getting dark so he has to make sure he hasn’t lost his way.

During one of these pauses, he hears a snuffle and a snap ahead of him. Startled, Val looks up.

In front of him, no more than twenty paces, is a huge white wolf. She stands proudly before him, regarding him with something like curiosity and something like intelligence.

“Hello.” Val whispers, too surprised and in awe to be afraid. “My name is Valasan.” He introduces, because _Mamae_ says that’s always the polite thing to do.

The wolf does not answer him. She steps towards him, head lowering and her eyes on his as she comes closer. He holds onto the tree, mouth open a little. The she-wolf sniffs his clothes, his arm, his face, jerking back in surprise when he laughs because her whiskers tickle his cheeks. She settles fast, though, and appears to lose interest in him, looking around at where they are in the forest.

“I’m trying to get home. Do you know the way?” He asks, thinking of Skyhold.

The wolf looks at him again but, again, does not answer. Instead, she turns around and starts walking slowly away, down the riverbank. She looks back at him when he doesn’t follow, and Val hurries to catch up after that.

He has to put a hand on her back for balance, but she doesn’t seem to mind that so long as he doesn’t pull on her fur. Together, they make their way back across the river (Val cries out softly at the renewed cold), and begin to climb a gentler slope than the one Val fell down in the first place.

At the top, when Val looks towards the right, Skyhold is there. The trees are thinner here, so it’s easier to see, but Skyhold is still a long way off. The she-wolf stops for him for a moment, looking back and licking his forehead, before she sets off again towards the fortress.

Val is exhausted by the time his feet hit stone instead of snow. He is thirsty, and hungry, and so so so cold. The she-wolf sits outside the portcullis at alert, her tail softly wagging. Val looks back at her one more time.

“Th-th-th-th-thank y-you.” Val stammers, shaking more violently than ever.

The she-wolf snorts at him softly, and watches him get all the way into the courtyard before she leaves.

Val was right. The moment he returns he finds his _Mamae_ frantic and panicked, and after she takes care of him and makes sure he’s warm again and tucks him into bed, she tells him very sternly that he is never to go outside again.

He tries to tell her about the she-wolf, about how she protected him, but _Mamae_ won’t hear it.

Val falls into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning. He wakes in the middle of the night and looks out his window to see his _Mamae_ weaving a barrier around the fortress. His heart sinks. He’ll never be allowed out again.

He doesn’t fall asleep again until early morning.

 _Mamae_ isn’t the same after that. She doesn’t tell him stories anymore. When he needs her, she is always busy. She does not have time for him, anymore. She still tells him she loves him, and still hugs him and is his _Mamae_ , but… it’s not the same. She is cold where she was warm, sharp where she was soft, and expressionless where she was passionate. Val tries not to be hurt. She’s a busy woman, always sending letters and stuff. Everybody wants her advice.

There are places in Skyhold where she does not go. Mostly, she keeps to her quarters, the War Room, and the Great Hall. She even goes out of the front door to get to the kitchen, instead of using the inside hallways.

So Val finds places where he will be out of her way.

There is one thing that has not changed. _Mamae_ does not go into the rotunda. She does not go into the library, or the keep. Whenever they needed a book, Val had to go fetch it when he was old enough. Before that, she just made up the stories off the top of her head. So that is where Val goes. He sits on the dusty chair in the middle, looking around at the paintings on the walls. They’re old and cracking a bit now, but they’re quality and beautiful.

The library has a book on everything, so Val decides to teach himself how to paint. There’s a section of the painting that’s not done, and it feels like a shame to leave it like that. Someone should finish it, and as Val is the only one here…

He studies, and he ignores the fact that his _Mamae_ has started to ignore him. At night, he repeats to himself: _I have a Mamae and a Papae, and we are a happy family. On my birthday, there is cake._

-=-

Solas is weak. He has decided he will go to visit her dreams, but he will disguise himself down to every last detail, and he will not approach her. She will not know it is him. He searches the Fade for her nightly, and he’s beginning to wonder if she sleeps at all when he feels the faint tug of her presence. Solas goes, trying to decipher the strange feelings inside.

Before him looms a towering fortress. Transitioning from the formlessness of the Fade to the defined edges of the structure is shockingly smooth, so much so that at first Solas doesn’t realize that he has stepped into someone’s dream as opposed to one of the many memories the Fade holds. The portcullis is open, but the halls Solas steps into are anything but inviting. They seem to twist and turn, dead-end and split at complete random. When he looks up, he has passed the same point three times. He does not envy whatever soul is trapped in this dream.

Finding his way out is easy, however. There is no reason to go through the fortress to reach her when he need only go around.

Solas circles the mountain of stone only to find that he is circling her presence, as well. Somehow, she is in the center of someone else’s dream. Before Solas can decide what to do, her presence ebbs away, and the castle crumbles, and he is alone in the Fade once more.

He tries again, and again, and each time he finds the fortress in his way. This is not of her creation, so whose is it? The puzzle perplexes him in a way nothing has in a long time, not since he met her, and the answer comes to him. Literally.

Solas is wandering the halls, trying to discern some pattern, when he hears a giggle. He spins, but there is no one there. A spirit of Mischief, then? Creating all of this? Another giggle, this time from, again, behind him.

When he spins, there is a little boy standing there. A little elven boy, perhaps of ten or eleven years. He has a round face and bright blue eyes, and a mop of brown hair that seems to curl in every direction.

“Do you like it?” The boy asks him eagerly.

“What do you mean?” Solas kneels to speak to him. He is not disguised, and he feels no need to be. This is a Spirit, taking on some form it pulled from Solas’ own mind.

“My castle, do you like it?”

“I do.” Solas indulges. “How do I get to the center?” Often, once Mischief has had its fun, asking it directly is the best way to get an answer.

But the boy frowns, and shakes his head. “You can’t, that’s the point.” He says slowly. “It’s my job to protect _Mamae_. I’m the man of the house.” The boy puffs out his chest proudly. “Can’t get through me.”

Solas narrows his eyes and turns his attention to the wall on his right. He has continuously kept the center of the fortress on his right side, and now…

“Well, if I can’t go through you, then I’ll go through your walls.” Now it is a game, an interesting challenge.

The boy giggles again. “You can try.” He suggests.

Solas begins to study the fortress in earnest. It is made of magic, as are most creations of dreams in the Fade. He turns over the boy’s words, wondering at them. If he is not a spirit of Mischief, if he has a mother, then he is a Dreamer. But who could he be protecting? Solas can feel the Inquisitor there, at the center, but she might be sharing a dream with someone else. If the boy is the ‘man’ of the house, perhaps there is a woman there, mourning the loss of her husband. It would make sense for Lavellan to share dreams with such a person, trying to make them feel better.

The walls are a different matter. The magic that has woven these walls is intriguing. Unlike most magic, it deals in absolutes. When Solas tries to guide his magic to go through the wall, the magic of the wall answers him, _you can’t._ When he tries to apply enough pressure to break the wall, the answer comes again— _you can’t._ He guides his magic to make room under the wall, for the Fade works in ways reality cannot, and he gets the same. _You can’t._

 _Then I will find the right path._ Solas decides, because breaking the fortress might be harmful to whoever has dreamt it up, and if it is the little boy, well—Solas does not delight in hurting children. The answer to his thought comes again, but this time, it gives him hope.

_You won’ts._

At first it, too, seems like an absolute, but it is not a _can’t_ , it is a _won’t_. So, with his magic, Solas searches.

Before he can find the right path, or indeed do anything more than continue to go in circles as he has been, Lavellan’s presence fades, and the boy appears again.

“You were fun to play with.” The boy tells him, sounding morose. Solas watches him scuff his shoe on the stone floor. “But I have to go now. _Mamae_ woke up.”

“ _Dar’eth shiral, da’len._ ” Solas murmurs.

The boy’s eyes light up. “ _Dar’eth_!” He returns cheerfully, and he and the fortress fade away with a wave.

Solas wakes and tries not to feel anything at all. The little boy can’t be real. If he is real, and Lavellan is real, everyone else might be real too. If everyone else is real, Solas is about to murder a whole world of people…

No. He has chosen his path. He has made his decisions. He knew it would not be easy, or pleasant, but it is necessary.

-=-

Val is fifteen, and he is feeling sour. And excited. He finally gets to go outside, but he has to dress up in this uniform, and _Mamae_ tells him he must pretend not to be her son. He must pretend to be her bodyguard, because no one knows she had a baby. No one.

He knows things, now. Things he doesn’t think she wants him to know. About the war, about Corypheus, about the Inquisition. The Inquisition disbanded, but she is still the Inquisitor, and she still holds Skyhold. She still has _connections_. She is still _important_. Val knows he looks older than his age, with his high cheekbones and his defined brow and jaw.

He wears his hair in dreadlocks, which isn’t very formal, but he tries the week before. They are going to Val Royeaux, for a conference of some kind. He shaves the sides of his head and draws his hair back into a clean, low ponytail. He has brown hair, like whoever his _papae_ is. His _mamae_ has white hair, and Val is sorta going prematurely white around the crown of his head—he has one white dreadlock that’s shorter than the others. He wonders if his _papae_ had blue eyes, or if those come from his _mamae_ only.

He lays on his bed and wonders about who he will meet. He must be quiet, _Mamae_ tells him. If he’s not quiet, he might let something slip. He might call her _Mamae_ , and then everyone would know, and it would be too dangerous for them to continue living at Skyhold. That scares him, but he knows he can handle it. He really must protect _Mamae_ , as she is not allowed to bring a weapon with her. He must stay close to her, he must not wander off.

So many rules.

Val sighs.

Traveling is fantastic. It’s just him and his _Mamae_ for the first two days. She rides on her hart, and Val has a horse because _harts are hard to handle, it’s better to start out with a horse_. Or so said his _Mamae_. Val has named her _Halla_ , like the hunters of the People of old who rode Halla into battle. _Mamae_ says that doesn’t happen anymore, but Val still likes the image.

On the third day, Val is awoken in the early hours by his _Mamae_ shaking him gently.

“Valasan.” She murmurs. She is smiling. “We’ve got some company. Come out and meet them.”

Val wipes his eyes and sits up. “Okay.” He grunts. “Okay, I’m awake.” He reaches blindly for his shirt, pulling it over his head. His _Mamae_ leaves, and Val takes a moment to struggle into his pants before following. He steps out to find the campfire veritably _surrounded_ by people. People of all shapes and sizes- here an elf, there a Qunari, over yonder a dwarf and a human.

Val was so excited to meet people, but now… His voice is stuck in his throat and he can’t introduce himself, he can’t bring himself to approach these _strangers_. He glues himself to his _Mamae_ instead, and tries to listen and not say anything at all.

“Magister Pavus, how wonderful that you could make it.” _Mamae_ sounds happier than she’s sounded in years, and the smile on her face is genuine. She hugs the man warmly, and Magister Pavus spots Val easily over her shoulder.

“Oh, you’ve made a new friend!” He declares, with an accent Val doesn’t recognize. “Who is the boy?” He asks, and Val furrows his brow at the man.

“My name is Valasan.” He introduces, perhaps more forcefully than is polite.

“Dorian Pavus, please meet Valasan, my-” _Mamae_ hesitates, and Val looks at her for guidance. Why was she hesitating? Val knew his place. “-body guard.” She finishes.

Dorian raises an eyebrow at her very high before turning to Val. Val can see the questions piling up in the man’s mind, but he says none of them. Instead,

“Pleased to meet you, then.” Dorian extends a hand, which Val doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with, so instead Val bows lowly. In the stories his _Mamae_ tells him, that’s how everyone greets each other.

“Pleased to meet you, too.” Val manages to choke out passed his stuck throat.

Dorian chuckles. “Oh, Varric is going to have a _field day_ with him.” He says to _Mamae_.

Val has no idea who Varric is, but he has a feeling he’s going to find out because there are more people walking towards them, crowding around him. Val holds his breath and tries not to panic. This is more people than he’s ever seen in his entire life.

“Your Inquisitorialness!” The dwarf greets, a huge grin on his face.

“I’m glad you all could make it.” _Mamae_ addresses them all. “And so quickly, too!”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world, boss.” The Qunari laughs. “I love watching these pompous types fall over themselves in front of you.”

“And who’s this, then? I didn’t think you’d left anybody up at Skyhold.” The elf dances around Val, and he draws back from her a little, squinting at her and daring her to try something. He can form barriers and summon fire—let her try to touch him and see what happens.

“This is Valasan, my body guard.” _Mamae_ says patiently.

“What is he, ten?”

“Sera-“

“I’m fifteen, thanks.” Val frowns. “What’re you, sixty? Bit old to be traipsing around these woods.” He shoots back, crossing his arms.

Instead of getting mad, like he thought she would, she laughs.

“I like him.” Sera decides. “You should keep him.”

“If he does a good job.” _Mamae_ says, and her voice is teasing but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and Val feels something sink inside him.

He is quiet the rest of the day, and is careful to do everything his _Mamae_ says without argument.

The next day is easier. _Mamae_ is absorbed in conversation with Varric, so that when Magister Pavus pulls his horse back to ride beside Val, she is distracted and happy.

“So, Valasan,” Magister Pavus says his name slowly, turning it over in his mouth like syrup and Val really doesn’t know how to handle that. “When did you first come to Skyhold?”

Val pauses, considering, before answering honestly. “I don’t remember.” He says simply.

“It must feel quite big, with no one around.” Magister Pavus says offhandedly.

“It does, sometimes.” Val says, finding that he’s glad to have someone to talk to. “But the library is nice. Cozy, I guess. It doesn’t feel so bad, in there.”

“I quite liked it during my time there, as well.” Magister Pavus returns with some delight, watching Val out of the corner of his eye.

“You were at Skyhold?” Val asks, unable to hide his amazement.

“Oh, yes. All of us here were, at one point. Fighting evil together. It was all very exciting.” Magister Pavus smiles.

“Fighting evil?” Val can’t help his interest. “M-“ He corrects himself. “M’lady never told me about all that.”

“I can’t imagine she would. She’s always liked to protect people, the Inquisitor. That’s why we’re going to this conference. She’s hoping to protect someone else…”

Val chews on this a moment. “You’re a magister, right?”

“Right.”

“So you do magic?”

“Yes, traditionally, that is what the title means.”

“I’ve read there are many kinds of magic other than elemental that a mage can preform. What kind do you do?”

“Necromancy is my specialty.”

Val gapes at him openly. “ _You can do necromancy?_ ” He asks, a little too breathless, a little too excited.

Magister Pavus laughs. “I can show you some, if you like. Though I should rather I don’t have to.”

Yes, Val supposes, getting to see necromancy would mean they would have to be in a fight, which nobody really wants. Not even he does. Not after his last foray with danger. He urges his horse onwards, and tries to make some approximation of regular conversation. Magister Pavus is funny and charming, and Val decides he likes the man with the strange accent and shiny clothes.

-=-

That night when they camp, Val finds that he has switched conversation partners with his mother. He’s sat next to Varric for dinner, which is a stew warmed over the fire. Val is tired and sore and stares into the flames for a long time.

“I heard you like stories, kid.” Varric says suddenly, somewhat jolting Val from his stupor.

“Stories are for children.” Val returns distractedly, managing to find his own mouth with a spoonful of stew.

“In a way, yeah.” Varric agrees easily. “But they can be for adults, too.”

Val finally turns from the fire to raise an eyebrow at Varric skeptically. His mother has never told him a story that was for adults, only the kind filled with dreams and happily ever afters, the kind for children. He has never found a book in the library that was a story for adults. Then again, he hasn’t looked that hard in the library for stories. Mostly he looks for books that will help him learn something.

“They can!” Varric insists good-naturedly. “Here, listen, let me tell you the story of the Hero of Ferelden. It’s true, every word.”

Val, despite himself, is interested. He’s on the edge of his seat the whole time, unable to help but get immersed in the tale, like he used to when his _Mamae_ told him stories. He doesn’t interrupt to ask questions, though, he’ll wait until the end and see if they’re not answered then.

-=-

He isn’t able to make it to the end of the story. He wakes in his tent, covered in his furs, clothes still on but shoes off. Val groans and sits up, confused and muddled-of-memory. What happened? How did the story end? How did he get here?

All questions that cannot be answered, because they must get started on packing up the camp and moving on. They’re on a tight schedule, his _Mamae_ said, and they must not be late.

Today, Val finds himself riding between the Iron Bull and a human called Krem. After they’ve all woken up—none of them are what anyone would call ‘morning people,’—the Iron Bull and Krem start conversation between them, and with Val stuck in the middle, he just tries to duck his head and stay quiet so as not to interrupt them. He’s regarding a grass sticker that somehow got into his mount’s mane when he’s startled by the booming voice of the Iron Bull.

“What do _you_ think?”

Val looks up, unsure if he’s the one being addressed. But Bull is meeting his eyes, and Val swallows.

“Uh… I… Wasn’t… Listening?” He tries, looking over at Krem for help.

Krem is grinning like there’s a private joke going on and says nothing, so Val looks back to Bull nervously. The Iron Bull could probably grab both of Val’s arms and then pull him apart into two neat halves, so Val really isn’t sure about whether or not he wants to be as snarky and offhand as usual.

“What do you think about _dragons_ , kid?” Bull asks exasperatedly. “We’re going to be passing the lair of a High Dragon on the way and I’m trying to get the Boss to let us stop.” There’s something wistful in Bull’s face as he says it.

“I like dragons.” Val manages. He can’t help the excitement that has begun to rise up inside his chest. The chance to meet a _real_ High Dragon… “Do they talk?” In the stories _Mamae_ told him, High Dragons always talked.

“What? No. They’re _dragons_.” Bull gives him a strange look.

“Oh.” Val says, quietly. “In the stories… nevermind.” He tries his hand at an explanation before realizing it would give too much away, and it’s a pretty lame excuse for not knowing dragons don’t talk anyway.

“You like dragons. Do you like fighting?” Bull valiantly tries again.

“I… Think so? I’ve never been in a real fight before, but I bet it would be fun. And dangerous.” Val adds hurriedly, blinking at him. He no longer feels threatened, but instead out of his depth. Bull has many scars on his bare chest, and he probably has a few where Val can’t see, either.

Val doesn’t have many scars, and the ones he does have are from accidents like falling and scraping himself on Skyhold’s stone, or slipping up during training.

Bull smiles softly, sighing through his nose. “You’re alright, kid.” He decides after a long moment.

Val has no idea how he came to that conclusion, or why, but there’s a certain warmth that spreads through him anyway, making his toes and fingers tingle. His _Mamae_ ’s friends _like_ him. So far, anyway. Maybe they don’t have to just be his _Mamae_ ’s friends; maybe they can be his friends, too.

-=-

Solas knows Lavellan is travelling. His agents tell him as much. And yet when he searches her out, the fortress is still there. It has been years, and yet. The boy has aged as well, and the boy is always there, following Solas around like a silent, very curious shadow. He watches the way Solas uses his magic and copies him quietly, sticking with it until he gets it right.

It is charming, and Solas unwillingly grows used to his presence as well.

Solas doesn’t know where it ends, or why he’s doing this anymore. He only knows he can’t stop now.

-=-

Entering Val Royeaux is overwhelming. Val wishes he had more eyes, so that he could see everything all at once. The opulence and glamour of the city sort of hurt, though, so after a few minutes of taking it all in, he bows his head against it and stares at the neck of his horse. They are greeted by crowds and crowds of people. Apparently, there were plenty of fans of the Inquisition.

Val can’t help but to stare at them a little, too. He’s squinting and scowling a little because the sun shines off of the gold details on the buildings directly into his eyes, but he can still see some of the faces that are closest. Most are humans, wearing masks. Some are elves, however, People who came to trade. Their faces are free of _vallaslin_ , just like his and his _Mamae_ ’s, though she’s told him most of the People wear the marks of the Gods.

The conference turns out to be just as boring as it sounded, mostly because Val was left outside the doors forbidden to go anywhere and unable to hear a damn thing that happened inside.

The travel home is boring, too, because all of _Mamae_ ’s friends have to leave, and Val doesn’t know how to say goodbye. It’s not like he knew them for very long at all, but he wishes they could come back to Skyhold. He wishes he could show them his favorite, secret places.

He wishes he were five again, and all of that would have been acceptable instead of ridiculous. At night, he repeats to himself: _I have a Mamae and a Papae, and we are a happy family. On my birthday there is cake, and Uncle Dorian teaches me magic. Uncle Bull and Uncle Krem laugh when I try on their armor and knock over Uncle Varric’s drink. Aunt Vivienne buys me pretty clothes and I ruin them on accident with Aunt Sera, playing tricks on everyone at the party. Uncle Thom has made me a staff, my first one, and it’s beautiful._

-=-

Solas does not remember anymore how old he is, and he is nervous. He wishes he could say that he can’t remember the last time he was nervous, but that’s not true. She has always made him nervous, made him question and _want_. She is dangerous that way.

He has made every excuse. He has justified it in every way he can. It doesn’t matter, though, not anymore. The orb is complete, after all these years, and all that is left is for him to say the word, and the end of this world will begin. He has hesitated for as long as he can, and now…

It would mean killing her. Killing everything she loved.

He can’t.

Maybe he is searching only for answers, maybe for forgiveness or permission, he doesn’t know. But as he steps out of the eluvian into the unused room in Skyhold, his mouth is dry and his knees feel watery. He keeps the orb with him in a bag, and it is still safe there, hard and solid against his hip.

Solas leaves the room cautiously. There might be guards- but he meets no one. The garden of Skyhold is overgrown and bursting with life, having no one to care for it. It is beautiful, in a way, but also speaks of neglect. He skirts the edges, observing benches where hopeful nobles and Inquisition recruits once sat.

The door that leads into the Great Hall creaks a little, and closes heavier than he remembers it to. He is more careful with the next door.

The Great Hall is much the same. No food, now, constantly adorning the tables, but everything else seems to be right where everyone left it. He yearns for the old days, for the peace of the rotunda, for his paintings. But those are for another time, and he has places to be.

He approaches the dais, and the door that leads to her chambers. Will she still even sleep there, after all this time, or will she have chosen another room? Solas opens the door and makes the ascent. At the top, there is a young man sitting against the wall. He has one knee propped up, his forearm resting on it, the other arm in his lap and his other leg stretched out in front of him. He is also fast asleep.

Solas steps over him as quietly as he can and then is presented with a predicament. Does he knock, and announce himself? Or should he just step in?

He’s never been one for rudeness. He knocks, two short raps of his knuckles, and then after a beat opens the door and slips inside.

She is sitting at her desk, pouring over letters by candlelight. The words cast through to the back of the paper, and Solas recognizes Cullen’s handwriting.

“ _Vhenan_?” He asks for her attention, gentle and hesitant. He knows he is undeserving, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

She looks up at him, the candelight throwing her face into relief. She hasn’t changed much at all. Her hair is still in the same style, her eyes still sparkle, her face still glows with youth. Elves and humans share roughly the same lifespan, but Solas has noticed that aging tends to vary from individual to individual. Perhaps having the anchor so many years ago for so long affected her in this way. It’s hard to tell how the touch of Solas’ magic has changed her.

“Solas.” She regards him calmly, apparently not surprised by his appearance, though he gave no warning. Her face betrays no emotion, nor do her eyes, and Solas feels something shift in the world around them. Something here is wrong.

For a long moment, they stand in silence. Solas no longer remembers what he was going to say, and the Inquisitor only sits, waiting.

“There is a boy outside your door.” Solas blurts, floundering because it seems like the only thing to bring up.

“Yes, he sleeps there often.” She does not look away from his face as she says this.

“I… was wondering if I might stay here, a while?” He asks. “I would stay out of your way. I do not wish to intrude…” Which is exactly what he’s doing right now. He’s making such a mess of this.

“Stay or go, it makes no difference to me.” She turns her eyes back to her letters, and Solas knows a dismissal when he hears one.

He goes, turning over her demeanor in his mind, dazed by her unconcernedness. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. When he opens her chamber door to leave, the boy is gone.

He goes to the rotunda, and finds that everything is pretty much as he left it years ago. The papers are yellowing and brittle from being exposed all these years, and his chair is dusty, but it’s all still here. Even the frescos… He turns slowly in a circle to take them in. He remembers painting them all, slowly and with care. Telling the Inquisition’s story, and his own, on these walls. Except… He doesn’t remember finishing _that_ one.

He blocked it out, but someone else has filled in the colors. Someone else has completed the painting. It looks like they did a pretty bad job at first, too, but Solas can see where they improved over time until it was complete. He touches the painting, examining it. It is old, many years dried. He hums to himself in thought. They aren’t the colors he would have chosen for it, but it still isn’t bad.

-=-

In his search for answers, Solas finds himself wandering Skyhold often. He never runs into the Inquisitor, which makes him wonder if she ever comes down from her quarters. There are many parts of the fortress that he has never seen before, given that much of his time was spent studying or painting in the rotunda. He never found any other part as interesting before. And it had all been too crowded anyway, all those years ago.

He finds himself on the battlements, looking out over the frozen landscape in midafternoon. Solas is not alone, however. Farther along, the young man is there, also staring out at the Frostbacks. Solas makes his decision and approaches him.

He remembers seeing this same young man, years ago, in Val Royeaux. He had heard the Inquisitor was going to be there, and he had wanted one glimpse, just one—and this young man was there with her, following behind her during the procession, looking sour and upset. But he’d never left the Inquisitor’s side.

“What is your name?”  Solas asks.

The young man turns to look at him slowly, unconcerned. “Valasan.” He answers, finally. “And yours?”

“You may call me Solas.”

“So what are you? Despair, in disguise? Or are you Desire?” Val turns to look back at the Frostbacks once more. “I almost said yes last time, didn’t I? Come, ask me again, I might agree.” A sardonic smile crosses the young man’s face, and Solas feels taken aback.

“You are not dreaming. I am not a demon.” Solas says slowly.

Valasan turns to him again, taking him in head to toe, and Solas takes him in as well. The young man’s pupils are blown wide, his face is a bit too flushed, and there is a stalk of elfroot in his hand that looks as though he was eating it directly. Solas feels a rush of understanding. Of course Valasan thought he was dreaming.

“Oh. So you’re not. So she’s finally let people in, has she?” There is no change of tone. “Well. Enjoy your stay, then.”

Solas watches him walk away and feels the world falling out from under his feet.

-=-

Solas still spends lots of time in the rotunda, going over old books and old information. Wondering what he should do now.

He’s not expecting the door to open, and he’s not expecting the person to come through to be Valasan. He still looks to be under the influence of elfroot, but perhaps less so than before.

“Oh, sorry.” Valasan says, and sounds like he means it. “I didn’t realize… No one ever comes in here except me.” He settles on.

Solas nods. “It’s fine. I’m actually more used to people walking in and out than I am the silence. It’s a bit unnerving, really. Can I help you with anything?”

“Uh. I don’t know. Do you know anything about healing magic?”

“Some, yes.”

Solas spends the rest of the afternoon bent over a table with Valasan, teaching the young mage how to heal bruises and small cuts. Valasan is a fast learner, and Solas finds that by the end of the day, in theory, the young mage should know how to heal minor broken bones.

They stop in the evening, because Valasan notices the time and makes a hurried apology before sprinting off out of the door that once lead to Cullen’s base of operations. Solas wonders where he went, bemused, but decides to make a trip up to the library for a few more books on healing magic.

When he comes back down, there is a steaming plate of food on his table, and no hint as to how it got to be there.

-=-

They practice healing magic a lot. Almost every day. Solas tries not to keep track of the time, tries not to think about how long he’s already delayed his mission. He wants this to remain out of space and time, separated from reality. Separated from problems. He likes teaching Valasan, because the young mage is a good student. Perhaps overly apologetic when he makes a mistake, but very focused and a good listener.

Watching him, Solas finally feels like he’s done _something_ good by being here.

-=-

On another wandering, Solas goes to the door he knows leads to both Josephine’s office and the War Room. He’s never been to either, so he’d like to know what it looks like at least. Another door catches his eye before he can get there, however. To the left, a door that he does not know where it goes. It looks newer than the rest of the doors of Skyhold- perhaps built after the Inquisition disbanded? The thought makes him more curious.

He chooses to follow this greater mystery, and opens it, revealing a long descending staircase. He follows it.

It opens to a room, small compared to the rest of the rooms in Skyhold. Who knew what it was used for before the Inquisition came. There is a painting leaning against the wall near him, and every bare bit of wall is covered in frescoes. Each scene flows seamlessly into the next, though Solas doesn’t think any of them are particularly related, or even perhaps images from reality at all. Dwarven statues remain nearby, watchful and silent.

Once he walks into the room proper, he can see how half of the room isn’t even finished. Val is sitting there on his knees, paint smeared over his face and arms as he tries to get the eyes right on the face of a woman.

“Valasan?” Solas asks when there is no risk of Val jumping and ruining the painting. “What’s all this?”

Val does indeed jump, and moves to hide Solas’ view of what he’s painting with his entire body. “I- um- this is- I mean- well it’s- I- it was- I never-“ He stammers, unable to meet Solas’ eyes. Finally, he manages, “It’s mine.” In a quiet voice.

“It’s beautiful.” Solas encourages him. He doesn’t walk closer, he doesn’t want Val to be made uncomfortable by Solas trying to see whatever he’s hiding behind his back. “Is it alright if I come down here more often?” He asks.

“I… Um…” Val shuffles a little. “Okay.” He decides. “But you can’t tell her about it. Any of it, okay?” He finally meets Solas’ eyes with a defiant, hard stare. “She’ll board this whole place up and I’ll never be able to come back. You _can’t tell her._ ” He emphasizes.

“Alright, alright, I won’t tell her.” Solas soothes, feeling the world tilting again. Something is so, so wrong.

He leaves feeling perturbed. The Lavellan he knew was kind, and gentle, almost painfully so. She would have delighted in the artwork, not found it something to be hidden away. She had been so just and fair, so full of light and love and laughter. What had happened to her? Was it his fault? Was her heartbreak to blame for all of this? He has a horrible feeling that he’s right.

He has some suspicions about Valasan, and the horrible feeling of being correct is crushing.

-=-

Valasan is seventeen, and feels torn. He hasn’t had a real conversation with his mother in years. She stays in her room and he brings her food, he paints, he reads, he keeps to himself and his elfroot.

The green dream that makes the horrible things he thinks and feels go away, just for a little while. It doesn’t make him feel good but it makes him feel normal. Elfroot tastes like mint and cinnamon and it breathes fire and ice into his guts, spreads it to his limbs, and makes him forget. The world goes all bright and colors are more interesting. The snow has a million more facets and he can lose hours just looking at it. He needs it, he _needs it_.

But Solas looks at him so sadly when he sees Val pull a leaf out of his pocket, Solas teaches him magic and how to paint—Solas _cares_ about him, and Val is not naïve, not in this way. He knows that just because someone cares it doesn’t mean they’re _invested_. His mother cares, but she isn’t invested. She used to be. He wishes she was. In his dreams, she is.

Val kneels in the garden by the cracked pot, his fists clenched on nothing in the dirt. He is resisting, he is _resisting_. But how much longer can he go without? When the prickling that makes him want to open up his own skin and pick out the bugs spreads from his fingertips to his hands to his elbows to his _brain_?

He kneels in front of the overgrown elfroot plant and wishes it would give him some answers.

That _someone_ would give him some answers.

-=-

Valasan is seventeen and a half, and he is… happy? Happy for his mother. And for Solas. They have both struck him as lonely people, and he has watched them get closer. She emerges from her quarters now, sometimes, and they eat together and speak in low voices. Val watches from afar, always, behind a window or leaning on a wall near a torch bracket with his own plate of food, picking at it. He sees how they bend their heads closer, the smiles that cross their faces. Tentative, unsure.

Val smiles to himself. They are happy, and…

And Solas would make a good _Papae._

-=-

Val is nineteen years old, and he is giddy with contentment. He brushes a curl of hair from his baby sister’s forehead. He leans on the sturdy oak bars of her crib, built by another of his mother’s friends. Thom had a kind smile and calloused hands. He’d let Val stay and watch as he built it in Skyhold’s barn.

The baby stirs, and Val withdraws his hand, afraid that he’s woken her.

Solas and his mother are happy. The proof is right before him. Solas is staying. He doesn’t know, about Val, that this is his mother’s second child, but that’s okay. Val understands. Romance has swept his mother off her feet, and it’s better this way, that Val can be a protector, a guardian. It’s his job to keep his family safe, even if the only ones who know it are his mother and him.

His sister lets out a soft cry and opens her eyes, and she’s screwing her face up to really _wail_ when Val picks her up and rocks her gently.

“Shhhh, shhh…” Val kisses her forehead and tries to ease her back into sleep. “Shhh, _hallain_.” He whispers to her. It’s what he’s decided to call her, because she is sweet and gentle and her little silver eyes sparkle with intelligence.

But she’s sniffing, she’s going to _cry_ —

“ _Elgara vallas, da’len, melava somniar_ —” He whisper-sings to her. She starts to quiet, and, emboldened, Val tries to keep going. “ _Mala taren aravas, ara ma’desen melar…_ ”

A line of light opens suddenly, and Val spins, holding his sister with one arm, the other hand stretched out defensively, magic crackling between his fingers. But it’s only his mother, dressed as though she’s ready for bed, Val relaxes with a sigh. His mother holds out her arms, and Val silently relinquishes the baby.

“I- sorry, m-“ he stumbles. Which is it? _Mamae_? M’lady? “Sorry.” He settles on.

“It’s alright, _da’mis_.” His mother coos at her daughter before turning to feed her.

“You won’t tell Solas, will you?” He asks in a whisper. It would be difficult to explain why Val is so interested in the baby when he has nothing to do with her.

“No, _da’mis_ , it’s alright. A baby should be celebrated by everyone.” She smiles at him, and it reaches her eyes, and Val can’t help but smile back.

-=-

Val has to go downstairs and add to his painting. He’s been wondering how to do it, because it’s already so detailed, but he figures it out. He spends hours in front of it, not feeling his knees on the hard stone or the cold.

As he goes, he recites his old story, but he changes it. Just a bit.

“I have a _Mamae_ ,” He touches up the Inquisitor’s eyes just a little. The fresh blue paint makes them pop. “and a _Papae_ ,” with a private chuckle, Val adds a shine to Solas’ bald head. “and an _asa'ma'lin_.” He paints her there, above himself and his _Mamae_ and Solas, paints her in her swaddling clothes with a starburst background. “And we are a happy family.” He whispers.

Slowly, methodically, he paints her in every scene, getting older alongside him. What he imagines she will look like—she will be beautiful, of that he is sure. He paints her with so many hair styles, ones he’s never seen before.

“On her birthday, there is cake.” He puts an extra candle on it. “Uncle Dorian and I teach her magic.” He paints them with sparkles on their fingertips. “Uncle Bull gives her a piggy back ride while I try on Uncle Krem’s armor.” He paints it so, with smiles on all their faces. “Aunt Vivienne gives her a beautiful dress, and Aunt Sera teaches her how to whistle.” He undertakes the difficult task of completely repainting that scene, and gives Aunt Sera bright colors and has her blowing a raspberry, with his sister blowing one right back. “Uncle Varric tells stories with her as the heroine, and I act out all the bad guy scenes for her.” He paints his own fingers curled into claws, and his face into a comical snarl while his sister shoots harmless sparks at his face from her fingers.

“Uncle Thom builds her toys and a staff and-“ Val swallows the lump in his throat. “And she is _beautiful_.”

He wipes his forehead, smearing paint there, and sits back looking at his work. It is beautiful. He licks his lips, and then starts mixing shades of green. He surrounds the painting with a border of lush green spiraling vines, leaves with three points and a general heart shape. He paints them in all shades, in all sizes. He paints tendrils touching every scene, paints them moving into every crack. He adds some purple to some of the leaves, because why the _hell_ not?

He lays down and looks at the ceiling when he’s done. He’s sweating, when did it get so hot in here? The ceiling is the only thing left unpainted, maybe he’ll move on to that next. It would be a challenge.

“Valasan?”

It is Solas’ voice, and Val’s heart nearly stops. No one can see this, what was he _thinking_ —

“J-Just a min—”

“Valasan? What is this?” Val didn’t get up fast enough, he’s still half on the floor with a knee drawn up and propped on one elbow.

Solas is staring at his finished mural, something a little dazed in his eyes. Val doesn’t know how he feels, but he thinks staring down your own death is something like it.

“It’s…” But he has come far from the stammering child he once was. “Mine.” He finishes, in an embarrassingly high and quiet voice. He hasn’t come far enough from that child, apparently.

“It’s… A wonderful work, Val, but I… don’t understand.” Solas clearly recognizes himself, despite Val’s stylistic choices. He clearly recognizes every person in the painting.

“I come here and…” Val slowly stands up, looking around at his other paintings. He has painted himself both fighting and making friends with dragons, riding bears, running with wolves and halla. He has painted the soaring architecture of Arlathan, the forests of the Emerald Graves. He has painted himself in every scene, as a small or large part of it. “I paint what can never be.”

Solas walks to the center of the room with him, taking it all in.

“Why not let your mother see it? Why not let everyone see it? They’re beautiful.”

“Because dreams and fantasies have no place in reality.” Val sighs through his nose to himself. The cat’s already out of the bag.

He cleans up his paints and supplies and leaves Solas standing there amid it all.

-=-

Val is twenty years old, and he is scared. He is scared and he is angry because _how dare they_ , how dare _anyone_ try this?!

They came in the night, when they thought everyone would be asleep. Val accompanied his mother and Solas and Ellana on a trip to Val Royeaux. Aunt Vivienne wanted to see her new god-baby. Ellana, who is Val’s entire world now. She is still so small and vulnerable.

They didn’t expect Val to still be awake, to be waiting. To be on _watch_ , as he has been for the past three nights they have travelled. He can sleep in the saddle, it hasn’t been a problem, and now… Now it has paid off.

He casts a barrier on the tent containing his _Mamae_ and Ellana, and another on the tent containing Solas. Val could not bear to see them hurt, no matter what happens here. He has no staff, his _Mamae_ has never allowed him one, but he knows how to cast accurately without one. He throws fire spells at them, lights up the night and refuses to allow them any darkness with which to hide. He will not allow them near these tents, he will not _allow_ them to hurt those he holds dear. He thinks of his _Mamae_ ’s smile, of Solas holding baby Ellana, and Ellana, his sweet sister. She will never know what it is like to have only a fraction of what she should, she will never know cloistered and caged, she will only ever know _freedom_ and _love._

He has no idea what the spell is the other mage sends at him, only that one moment he’s awake and the next, he’s not.

-=-

Nohari is _too old for this shit_ , and she is righteously angry like she hasn’t been since Corypheus. They have taken her son somewhere, her son, to whom she has made so many mistakes, taken so many missteps with. She’s trying to make it right, but it’s so hard to know where to start when she’s missed half of his life and it’s her own fault. _A week._ A week they have had him.

If ever there was a line to be drawn, it is here. She is on the cusp of a family, a real life, something beyond the Inquisition, beyond Corypheus, and she is going to _fix_ what she can with who she has left. That included her son, possibly more than anyone.

And because she is righteously angry, she has gathered all of her friends together for one last adventure. One last fight. With Solas on her right and Iron Bull on her left, Dorian at her back and Varric and Sera taking turns somewhere off to her three o’clock—it feels like old times. She only wishes she could revel in it.

They’ve taken up hiding in an old cave, once the property of bandits. They’ve dug it out, however, so it goes deeper than it once did. ‘They’ are some cult group Leliana discovered. They are the Order of the Rising Sun, and they oppose the new Chantry, the new Divine, the new world order, and they blame the Inquisition for the way the world has gone.

And so, not getting the Inquisitor, they went for the next best—her ‘bodyguard’. She’d woken in the night and emerged from her tent to find Solas in a similar state of confusion. The churned earth, the barriers they’d had to dispel, and Valasan. Missing.

Now it was clear. He had protected them, and inadvertently sacrificed himself. She wished she had given him a staff now. He was beyond ready for one, he’d probably instinctively know how to use one, the little infuriating genius he was. He would have been fine, if he had a staff.

Now they were down in the dark, fighting an enemy that fought with the fierce of the young. Nohari led her friends down into the depths again, farther and farther, until they reached a maze of rooms. They checked each, methodically.

They were not leaving without her baby.

-=-

Valasan does not know direction anymore. He doesn’t know time. How long has he been here? He does not even know pain. He wishes he knew pain. He knows he is hurt, knows that the spill of thick, viscous fluid from his mouth is blood, but he can no longer taste it. His eyes are swollen shut from some type of stinging nettle they rubbed into his eyelids.

He still can’t feel it, though, can hardly feel any part of his body. His tongue feels fuzzy. Val had thought he was getting better. Able to resist the sweet song promises of green vines and velvet leaves, the taste of mint and cinnamon. He wouldn’t call it a complete success, because he couldn’t help but find shitty half-reasons for using it, but he had definitely lessened its use. He wanted to be there for Ellana. He wanted to be present, not somewhere staring dumbly at something too pretty to be real.

She deserved that much from him, at least.

But they had given him more. And not just regular elfroot, either, but the _really_ good stuff that Val had sworn off of the fifth time he’d ever used it. It was too strong, too debilitating. Royal Elfroot was not to be trifled with, and he had no idea how much they’d forced down his gullet, but it was a lot. He’d tried to make himself throw it up, but his tongue and throat had gone completely numb almost instantly, and vomiting was a losing battle. From that moment on, guilty and reluctant and _desperate_ , he had wanted another taste. Val didn’t think they knew about his—predilection; they thought he was begging for mercy when he finally stooped to begging them for more.

Even after the elfroot had begun it’s slow work at knitting him back together from the inside out so that they could hurt him all over again, they hadn’t entirely stopped creating new bruises and cuts for the plant to heal. They’d demanded he tell them all of his _Mamae_ ’s secrets, and he had steadfastly refused.

At first, he’d thought, if he just didn’t open his mouth _at all_ , then there was no chance at him letting _anything_ slip, much less something important.

And then they’d broken his feet, and given him elfroot, and that had become impossible.

When he tried to reach for his magic, all he received was a deep stabbing pain somewhere in his head and in his chest. He didn’t know what that meant beyond the simple fact that he could not cast spells. He couldn’t be sure what they’d done to him.

Every time they asked about the Inquisition, he gave them back every Dalish curse he could think of. Some he’d heard his _Mamae_ say, and some he’d only ever read and so had no idea if he was pronouncing them correctly.

For now they had left him, and there was a ringing in Val’s ears that he couldn’t help but focus on. It was the only sensation left, really. He knew he probably didn’t look good. Breathing was really hard, there was something wrong with his chest, but without feeling it, he had no idea what the problem might be. He knew he was strapped to a sort of somewhat upright table, but that was about it.

He heard the door open again, so fast that it slammed against the other side. Fear rose up within him, making his limbs shake violently and thrash against his bonds. Because of the elfroot, however, the fear never reached his head. It had always made his tongue loose and his actions brash, and this was no different to then.

“ _Nuva Ghi’lan’na’in then asa shud ove arsyl o’tarasyl, i dirash na in masa dur su an’banal!_ ” Val snarled immediately around his disobedient tongue. They didn’t seem to understand Dalish, so he thought he was pretty safe in trying out some more curses. “ _Nuva mar’edhis banafelas i miol’en av ra, Nuva iovro av na, i etun na sule ven, dalas manean’en!_ ” He grinned. It was harder to breathe now, and he exhaled violently, spilling what was probably more blood down his own front. That’s fine, it was getting in his way anyway.

“ _Da’mis_?” His mother’s voice, shaky and unsure. Does he really look so bad as to be unrecognizable?

“ _Mamae_?!” He tries so hard to open his eyes, but they refuse, and he is left waving his head towards the sound of her voice like an idiot. “ _Mamae_ , _ir abelas_ , I never-“ He gasps on breath that refuses to fill his chest. He forces himself to relax, and only then does the oxygen come. “I never meant to let them take me, I didn’t tell them anything, I swear, Fen’harel watch my words.”

“ _Tel abelas, da’mis._ ” Her voice is closer now, softer, and Val can feel her magic working over his bindings.

There is someone else’s magic working over him, too, however. Someone who is very familiar. The tendrils seep in to every cut, every bruise, searching and cataloguing his wounds.

“ _Mamae_?” Solas whispers, something like wonder and something like amusement in his voice.

She does not answer him, instead puts her arm behind Val’s neck and helps him ease up, putting a cool glass vial to his lips.

“Drink.” She urges him, not unkindly. Val twists his head away, panic fluttering in his heart. He does not want more elfroot, he does not-

He can smell the cinnamon and the mint, and he is helpless. He drinks.

This is more benign than what his captors had given him. He can’t tell if it helps his wounds, but he’s suddenly floating somewhere else, unaware as they drag him to his feet and help him from this hellhole.

-=-

Solas watches Valasan sleeping. It doesn’t look like a peaceful rest, necessarily, but they’ve done what they can for him. Elfroot potions don’t seem to have much of an effect until the dosage is increased to dangerous levels, and none of them are willing to continue to subject the young elf to that. They have made camp in the Hinterlands in the location of one of the old Inquisition camps. Bears still avoid the area, which is faintly amusing.

When they found Valasan, his chest was nearly caved in. Blood poured from his mouth, covered his face and almost ever strip of bare skin. His feet were ruined, his arms mangled. It looked as though there was little that had _not_ been done to him. And still, when they entered and he thought they were his torturers, he only had the most colorful insults for them, given as cheerfully as one might give a ‘ _good day_ ’. And then…

“Is he ours?” Solas asks slowly.

“I don’t know.” Nohari answers him softly, checking Val’s brow for fever. “He is certainly mine.” There is a long pause, which Solas allows, because he can feel her preparing to explain.

“We only ever had the one night, you and I.” She says without looking at him, and he remembers. Crestwood, the grass soft beneath them. “You left soon after. When you did, I… I don’t know. I guess I went a little crazy, after. I found comfort in the body of another. I shouldn’t have, but…” She sighs.

“It’s okay.” Solas stops her. He understands, and while there is a part of him that is wickedly jealous, he cannot begrudge her that. Not when he did what he did to her, not when Val might have been the outcome.

“I have always raised him as your son.” She tells him, finally meeting his eyes. “I taught him the truths you taught me.”

“Fen’harel watch my words?” Solas quotes at her wryly.

“I don’t know when he started saying that.” Nohari confesses with an embarrassed smile. “I told him Fen’harel was the only one of the gods who was not blinded by power.” She looks back to her son, holding his hand in both of hers while he sleeps. “The Wolf would save the People, no matter how long it took or how much opposition he faced.”

Valasan stirs, surprising them both into silence, and Solas watches as he cracks open one eye.

“We are the last of the Elvhen. Never again shall we submit.” Val croaks in a quiet voice, looking between his mother and Solas. “Maybe we don’t have immortality, and not all of us have magic. Maybe the Spirits of the Fade _are_ lost to us forever.” He struggles to sit, and gives up after it causes him too much pain. “But Fen’harel saved us from a fate worse than death, or blindness, or feebleness.” He looks to Solas. “At least the People can _choose_ what kind of life to lead.”

“How do you feel, _da’mis_?” Nohari checks his bandages while Solas stands frozen in shock.

“Like I got eaten by a bear but I didn’t agree with it, so it vomited me back up and then I got eaten by all manner of scavengers.” Valasan grumbles, but it’s good natured.

“Ahh, is the hero awake?” Dorian pokes his head into the tent, cheerful, if somewhat strained.

“Hero?” Valasan narrows his eyes. “I’m not…” His eyes stray to his mother and Solas. “Were one of you sleeping in here?”

“No, he most certainly means you.” Solas assures, breaking out of his trance. Valasan has never ceased to surprise him.

“I didn’t do anything. I got caught, and made you all come after me. You didn’t have to.” Val protests. “I… I’m just a bodyguard.”

Solas sees the words like knives pierce his _vhenan_ ’s heart, how her smile falters. How perfectly Val keeps up their charade, how he appropriately prostrates himself in thanks when the reality is…

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Valasan.” He speaks softly, gently, and with a smile. “We know.”

Solas watches that sink in for Val, watches as he goes very carefully still. Each move calculated. Instead of being happy, of relaxing, Val seems even more guarded and upset.

“What’s wrong?” Solas asks, equally softly.

“I said yes, didn’t I?” Val asks them all, his face going hard. “I said yes to one of you, finally. After all these years. So show me!” His voice has risen to a harsh, furious shout. “Which was it? Which of you came to me? Was it Despair? At least let it be Desire, there’s still some dignity in that, for fuck’s sake. Don’t tell me it was Fear, I’ll never forgive myself if it was Fear.” The profanity grates on everyone’s ears. Valasan has never been anything but polite and formal, if a little too familiar for someone who was supposed to be bodyguard to the Inquisitor. Solas holds back a wince.

“ _Da’mis_ , none of this is in your head.” Nohari grasps his wrists pleadingly, though she does not trap him there. “I promise you, none of it. This is real. I told them who you were, the moment you were safe. We don’t have to pretend, anymore.”

Val looks at them all, his chest hitching. He falls back onto an elbow, turning his face away even though his breath is coming too fast and too harshly in the small space. He pulls a hand away from his mother and uses it to cover his eyes. Solas looks away respectfully, but he reaches out to touch Val’s hand, covering both Nohari’s and Valasan’s. This family that he never deserved, the family he threw away—he will never fail them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Mamae: mother  
> Papae: father (P.E. has it as Babae, but I like the sound of p's better. ^^;)  
> da'len: male person (used for someone younger/less experienced)  
> da'mis: little blade (Typically used to describe someone who is stubborn, but effective. Someone who goes to get what they want, and someone who does something regardless of consequence.)  
> Dar'eth shiral: Go safely on your journey / Safe journey || Used with: Anyone, formal  
> Dar'eth: Val uses this as an informal way of responding. Like saying "bye" in response to "goodbye."  
> Vhenan: heart/my heart
> 
> Elgara vallas, da’len / melava somniar / Mala taren aravas / ara ma’desen melar : Sun sets, little one / Time to dream / Your mind journeys, / But I will hold you here. 
> 
> asa'ma'lin: sister
> 
> Nuva Ghi’lan’na’in then asa shud ove arsyl o’tarasyl, i dirash na in masa dur su an’banal: May Ghi’lan’na’in stir her hoof through the roof of heaven and kick you in the ass down to the void. 
> 
> Nuva mar’edhis banafelas i miol’en av ra, Nuva iovro av na, i etun na sule ven, dalas manean’en: May your dick rot and the insects eat it, May the bear eat you and shit you into a river so you kill the fish.
> 
> ir abelas: I'm sorry  
> Tel abelas: negates the above. Like saying "don't be sorry" or "no."
> 
> 100% realize how many errors and holes there are here. There are some places where I was planning for other scenes but I just couldn't make them fit. Maybe they'll get their own fics later?
> 
> Oh, uh, about the elfroot- Val does eventually get in touch with Cullen about that and is cured of his addiction.  
> His tears are happy tears at the end  
> And at some point everyone sees his painting and everyone loves it.
> 
> Cole did not show up not because I don't love him but because there was a version of this story where he had a much larger role but it didn't really make sense with everything else I wanted to do so. Again, he might appear later. Definitely don't want to neglect my sweet summer spirit child ;u;
> 
>  
> 
> I'll get right back to that Grimmichi now tho I know what's up XD


End file.
